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' Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The Seasons' difference." 



The 
Woody Hill Meadow 

By 
Harriet Martin Williams 



ILLUSTRATED 



>.-\Lhvl. N. Y. 

Privately Printed 

1912 



' Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The Seasons' difference." 



The 
Woody Hill Meadow 

By 
Harriet Martin Williams 



ILLUSTRATED 



SALEM, N. Y. 

Privately Printed 

I912 









5 



I 



Limited Edition 
of one hundred and fifty copies 




THE WOODY HILL MEADOW 

]EAUTIFUL for Situation" 
is the meadow we are con- 
sidering; truly fascinating 
the tree-shadows sur- 
rounding the enclosure: with Woody 
Hill for a back-ground and White 
Creek running its entire length, the 
pasture is ideal. Pasture did we say ? 
This place of beauty deserves a better 
name. More than twenty-five thousand 
dawns and twilights have crept over 
its surface in the present generation; 
think you these many days have left 
no record for this favored spot? Pic- 
nics—Corn Roasts— Clam-Bakes— Fairs 
—Festivals— Soldiers' Reunion — 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

Harvest Homes — and United States 
Cavalry liave found accommodation in 
this broad domain and cast their 
bright pictures on memory's wall. 

Not always has the field presented 
this velvet-like appearance ; progress 
and development of agricultural art 
have here been largely demonstrated. 
Looking back through the dim past, 
we see half a score of men armed with 
scythes and whetstones wending their 
way thither; one carries a huge pail 
which is deposited in a shaded corner ; 
this contains ginger, molasses, vinegar, 
a piece of ice— and a dipper. Then 
follow days of arduous labor, mowing, 
tossing, raking, mounding, until the 
heavy-footed oxen come slowly in to 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

carry off the loads. To-day, the mow- 
ing machine and tedder turn grass into 
hay in a few hours, and before the 
on-looker can focus his vision for the 
the hay-field scene the last load 
hastens through the gate, leaving the 
meadow to recover from the shock of 
modern improvement. 

The boundaries have changed with 
the passing years. The Western 
portion having been devoted to Church, 
Home and School purposes — strenuous 
life ensued; chapters of romance and 
tragedy might be written in relation to 
this life, but the facts are too sacred 
for the public gaze. The grounds 
were given the highest cultivation; 
drives were laid out and walks 

9 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

gravelled, a fountain built and sundial 
established ; roses planted and a tennis- 
court prepared ; a rustic cross and 
arbor also embellished the lawn. One 
day a little girl from the Williams 
Homestead, pail and shovel in hand, 
went down the rosewalk to the 
creek seeking craw-fish ; digging into 
the bank with her small shovel, she 
unexpectedly opened St. Paul's Church- 
yard spring, which has ever since been 
flowing a crystal stream. 

The Eastern portion furnished a site 
for the farm-house, removal of which 
from the head of the Street was neces- 
sitated by the erection of the Court- 
House. Of the former we will 
only say that the view from the 

11 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

windows must, for all kinds of work, 
form a daily inspiration. 

The mill-race, at the foot of the hill, 
has now become a relic of the past. 
It conveyed water from the dam to 
the old grist-mill; and was construct- 
ed with much labor and expense ; 
always giving trouble by leaking and 
land-sliding. Its race is run, however, 
for a dynamo supplies its place in the 
new Manhattan Mill. Nature now is 
busy filling the empty space with moss 
and ferns and flowers. 

The meadow is like an open book, 
each season recording a sweet story of 
of love and care. The Spring sunshine 
arouses the pussy-willows, calls up the 
grass blades and charms the tree-buds 

13 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

into leaves ; the robin and tlie blue- 
bird add their joy and our hearts 
respond to the harmony. 

Surprise awaits the Spring rambler, 
as he wanders through the clover 
toward the bushes on the bank; the 
glimmer of water meets his eye — a 
few steps forward, and the swiftly 
flowing White Creek is disclosed. 
What more pleasing picture for the 
fisherman? — a trout stream fed by 
mountain springs. He stands entranced 
before the panorama, and in absence 
of rod and line, reclines upon the 
fern-bank, giving himself up to enjoy- 
ment. Just below him swims the 
speckled beauty, with airy fins waving 
above the pebbled bed. A turtle 

15 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

sunning himself on a moss-covered 
stone, looks askance at the in- 
truder, while the squirrel on the 
opposite shore regards him with 
suspicion. The meadow lark, too, 
hovers anxiously over her nest, but 
what cares he? The gentle ripple 
soothes his spirit and calms his 
restless nerves. Gladly would he tarry 
where the song-sparrow trills on the 
swinging bough and the sunbeams 
dance beneath. The laughing brook 
may indeed ''go on forever,'* but he 
must depart. 

The days are like book-pages, each 
increasing in beauty and interest, until 
the daisies announce that Summer is 
here. Oh ! the charm of a July daisy- 

17 



I 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

field ! Stand amid the starry heads and 
look down upon the wonders here 
revealed. See the wild orchid growing 
beside the graceful fern, the tiny vine 
meandering among the many tinted 
grasses ; here and there a lily, bowing 
its head as if in devotion, with a 
bobolink warbling the praise. Wonder 
not that the cricket chirps so con- 
tentedly and the butterfly flits so 
rapturously; even the soul is uplifted 
in this maze of beauty. Fain would 
we linger in the sun-lit realm, peering 
at the invisible, yet far too peaceful 
is the plot for careless human tread. 

A leaf turns — and the woodbine's 
banner hangs on the hillside, herald- 
ing the approach of Autumn. Many 

19 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

regard this season witli dread and 
dismay, in anticipation of increasing 
cold — overlooking the glory and 
richness of October. Passing strange 
it is that such enjoyment should be 
so needlessly forfeited. Gaze at the 
meadow-brook landscape lying in the 
sunlight this quiet September day. 
Vividly green the pasture, intensely 
deep the shadows that mark the 
border of the silvery stream. So 
clear is the atmosphere, that it seems 
but a step to the familiar nooks of 
Woody Hill. An indescribable spell 
rests upon the scene ; and the mind 
reads the message of Life and Love — 
Life everlasting — and Love worshiping 
the Author of such enchanting beauty. 

21 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

The falling leaves speak of a coming 
change: and soon the whirling snow- 
flakes will hint at the crackle and 
sparkle of winter. With thoughts 
of Christmas at its opening and 
dreams of Easter at its close — why- 
should winter be a gloomy period? 
True, the meadow lies under a blanket 
of white, but its chapter treats of 
purity, rest and tranquillity. The eye 
delights in the glistening snow, the 
ice-glazed hillside and the sparkling 
etchings against the azure sky — a sense 
of peace steals through the heart before 
this restful picture. 

The mysterious crows now and then 
break the silence of the air by cawing 
of something — we know not what. 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

The thawing, raining and freezing of 
February often transform the field 
into a skating.park, and the smiling 
moon looks down upon the bright 
eyes and rosy cheeks of those enjoy- 
ing an evening's revel. The splendor 
of a wintry sunset is enhanced by the 
reflection on hill and field. We can 
not forget the ecstacy of a city guest 
while viewing this display: his visits 
hitherto had been in the Summer. He 
carried the vision over the sea and 
longed for another glimpse. 

Oftentimes, familiarity with beauti- 
ful places produces indifference to 
their charms; not so is it with this • 
associations gather in the rolling 
years and the widening changes bring 
greater fondness and regard. " 

26 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

But why so much concerning this 
*' little corner?" Have we no interest 
in the broader land? ^* Surely living 
in a small place need narrow no one. 
The smallest place on earth is in 
touch with the world; lines go out 
from it to the ends of the earth." 
Such is the case here ; the highway 
passing the meadow, formed, a few 
years since, the starting point of the 
owner and his wife as they went forth 
to encircle the globe. Seven months 
later, they were greeted by a welcom- 
ing multitude in front of that same 
meadow gate. 

There are some in Europe, Asia, 
Africa and the remotest limits of our 
own country, who joyfully hail a 

27 



The Woody Hill Meadow 

message from Salem, their memories 
bearing the impress of her woods and 
streams. 

It has frequently been observed that 
those who have once lived in, or 
visited the ** Valley of Peace," always 
desire to return: a magnetic influence 
pervades the meadow locality ; time 
and again the passing stranger has 
been seen to pause, cross the street 
and with folded arms stand in dreamy 
contemplation. Happy indeed are 
they whose '4ines have fallen" in 
this pleasant place and to whom the 
beauty of nature has been a continual 
benediction. 



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